


This Is What A Man Is Supposed To Look Like

by art_brutal



Category: Bandom, Music RPF, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, body image issues, enthusiastic!Gee, woobie!Bob, written before the Pedicone incident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/art_brutal/pseuds/art_brutal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the Projekt Revolution tour, it takes place after the events of this clip <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nPdk708FdIU">here</a>. When Gerard pays attention to Mike Pedicone Bob gets jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is What A Man Is Supposed To Look Like

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first fanfic I ever wrote so I realise there are lots of bits that could be better.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own/know/share a house with any of the persons herein.
> 
> Also posted at [livejournal](http://art-brutal.livejournal.com/1238.html).

Mike Pedicone was backstage getting stuck into the rider when the MCR boys finally trouped in after their second encore and was immediately swept up in the post-show celebratory high-fives. He loved how tight-knit they were, but how easily they had made him feel welcome. He seemed to spend more time with them than his own band this tour. It's not like he had been a complete newbie: his friendship with Frank stretched back years, and he had met Bob a couple of years previously.

"My man, Pedicone!" Gerard grinned at him and accompanied it with a (painfully enthusiastic) back slap. "Thanks for sharing that physique with the kids out there. It's just so important to show them positive role models - male role models - who are willing to strip and subvert the groupie paradigm. It's all very well showing them that minorities are to be valued instead of bullied, that it's ok to be fat or nerdy and not conform to society's bullshit narrow idea of beauty, but we've got a duty to show them the opposite, too. You lucked out in the genetic lottery and that should be celebrated."

Mike wasn't thrilled about being the poster boy for Gerard's newest campaign, but he didn't exactly mind getting half-naked onstage so he was willing to play along.

"And, well, look at us," Gerard continued, gesturing to the five of them. "None of us are exactly cut out to do it."

"Speak for yourself, fucker," Frank protested.

Gerard looked crestfallen.

"Oh, no. That's not what I meant, Frankie. Of course I'd never try to oppress your self expression through nudity. The human body is a beautiful in all its permutations. It's just really important that the kids see all sides of humanity. And Mike's form is just so anatomically perfect, speaking from an artistic point of view, of course. He makes me think of Da Vinci's Adam and circus strong men and how could I not share . . . mmmphmmph!"

"Thank Christ for that," Mike said as Frank resorted to silencing Gerard with a hand over his mouth. "I don't know how many more compliments I can take."

"Yeah, right!" Frank said as Mike just grinned. "You love it."

He noticed that Ray and Mikey were wisely staying quiet about Gerard's new mission, both concentrating very intently on the screen of Mikey's Sidekick when Gerard looked pleadingly at them for support. Bob threw on an oversized black hoodie and all but ran for the door.  
"Bob, hold up," he called after the receding back but was ignored.

Mike snagged a second beer and followed as Bob quickly exited the green room. Frank must have relented because he could still hear Gerard plaintively trying to defend his onstage actions as being part of a grand plan to subvert unfair gender stereotypes while extricating himself from the hole he was in after insulting his band members' looks and manliness. Like most of Gerard's plans it was heartfelt and earnest but fell down a little when it came to logic.

He followed as Bob stomped back to the MCR bus, eschewing a shower, which was unusual for him. Normally the post-show buzz would have him at his most jovial and relaxed, when even things like wrist strain or drum damage from Frank's hyperactive antics could be easily shrugged off with a smile.

Bob rarely made his displeasure known, preferring to quietly remove himself from the group, maybe punch a wall a few times then chain smoke until he had talked himself down. Mike had never seen him so obviously upset. He was willing to bet it was about something important.

Bob wheeled around as Mike stepped behind him onto the bus, the look on his face unreadable.

"What do you want?" he demanded flatly.

"Same thing I want every night, Pinky," Mike retorted, expecting at least an attempt at a smile in return for the quip, but Bob was unmoved. A beer and some banter wasn't going to fix this. He tossed the alcoholic peace offering on the counter.

"Not tonight, ok?" Bob almost pleaded, twisting back towards the bunks, as if the thin curtain could hide him from unwanted conversations. "I'm not in the mood for company. I need to be asleep by the time Gerard gets back here. You know how he gets with these crusades. He'll be up until 5am writing manifestos and getting us to help make badges for the cause. With glitter."

Mike snorted. He knew it wasn't an exaggeration.

"So? We'll do what we usually do. Fuck up the badges so completely that his artistic pride takes over and he kicks us out, then hide in the back lounge and beat each other up via the xbox until he's worn himself out."

It was a tried and tested Gerard management technique.

"You just don't get it. And why would you?" Bob continued, getting more and more agitated. He tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie, seemingly trying to disappear inside it. "I know he means well. I know he does. I just . . . When he stands there and goes on and on about how perfect you are and how strong and what a great drummer . . . I know I'm not . . . Does he not think about how it makes me . . ."

Bob bit off the end of his sentence, cast his eyes down to look at the floor. Mike's gaze snapped to his as he suddenly realised what this was all about.

Coldly: "If you care so much about Gerard's opinion of your manliness, why aren't you dating him?"

"Mike, no, that's not what I meant. It isn't about Gerard." Bob had the good grace to look chastened. Mike stepped forward into his space and cupped Bob's face in his hands, forcing eye contact.

"Oh really? Because I don't know how many times I can tell you how hot you are and talented and amazing. I tell you I love you but you never seem to hear me."

"I do, it's just . . ." Bob faltered. "Everything Gee said was true. Look at you. Then look at me. I just don't understand why you . . ."

"Shut up." Mike commanded. He kissed Bob on the mouth slowly, deliberately and passionately, worming his hands under layers of clothing to rest them on Bob's broad, muscular back. Then, more gently: "If you won't listen, let me show you."

He pushed them both into the bunk - a move made all the more difficult for his unwillingness to let Bob out of his ams - and reached back to drag the curtain closed. He'd have to hope that the rest of the band would forgive them for breaking the cardinal tour bus rule. By the end of the night he wanted Bob to be under no misapprehensions of his worth.

"And you'd damn well better show me that it's me and not Gerard you want here with you."

Bob finally smiled, looking assured for the first time since coming off stage: "That I can definitely do."


End file.
